the red light was your friend.
back way out in the woods when you were working before morning and after dusk, she would blink and wink and twinkle at you over the evening forest. it wasn't as if you were in a particularly rural area - a few hours and you'd be back in city territory - but there was only ever the one tower visible on your walk home, in the dark along the road. you never used a flashlight if you could help it. nobody to bother you and no need for anything but half moonlight.
crunch of ice and salted tire tracks, ten minutes through the dark to sleep. sometimes you would wait just outside the window glow ankle deep in snow and watch the tower blink. the red light was your friend. on, off. on, off. forty minutes or more sometimes you stood there. on, off. on, off.
and then you went back into town, away from big friendly forests and singular signal towers. back to where there are streetlamps and house lights and people.
she can't see you out there.
she misses you.